


Beating Hearts

by MrsJohnReese



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Divorce, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Infidelity, Lots of Angst, Medical Procedures, Medical Professionals, Romance, Smut, more tags to come as the story goes along, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsJohnReese/pseuds/MrsJohnReese
Summary: After leaving Soho to escape a deteriorating marriage, and a dead-end job, Dr. Fiona Fell thought that taking a job at the Tadfield Airbase Hospital would be the answer to her prayers. But what she found, instead, was a man who took an already complicated life, and only made it worse. Trouble was, the more time she spent with him, the more she found she was unwilling to give him up
Relationships: Crowley (Good Omens)/Original Female Character(s)





	1. A Meeting In A Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! And welcome to yet another AU for Good Omens (I just can’t seem to stay away from reasons to ship Fiona and Crowley. Oops?) This one is entirely the fault of my dear fellow author, phoward, though (you know what you did, my friend…I hope you’re proud, lol). So, I hope that you all are willing to bear with me on yet another crazy journey. I promise, the fun has only just begun!  
> As a small warning, this initiation chapter features a lemon at the end, so if that isn’t your thing, feel free to stop reading after the first page break. But if it is…well…I hope you enjoy. It’s the first lemon I’ve written in AGES so I’m not too sure how I feel about it. But hopefully it’s not as terrible as I fear?  
> Enjoy!

“Another shot?”

“Please,” The young woman agreed, rather gratefully accepting the shot of tequila from the man behind the bar, and downing it in one go almost as quickly as it had appeared. Some small part of her knew that she would regret this, in the morning, particularly as she was due to start a new job the very next day. But something about the fact that she was spending the night before her first day alone in a bar only made her want to drink more, the next shot of tequila appearing before she even had to ask for it, and thus allowing her to down it as quickly as she had downed the ones preceding it, only to nearly choke as the empty seat beside her was suddenly empty no longer.

“You alright there, pet?”

“I—what?”

“I said are you alright, there?” The stranger repeated, shifting just a bit on the stool he had snagged, and resting one arm across the bar, while the other rested with long fingers extended upon the leg of his jeans, “Tequila tends to burn going down the wrong pipe, in my experience.”

“Yeah. No, I—I’m fine.”

“You sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Fiona questioned, quirking a brow at the man, and doing what she could to school her expression into something that would not make it apparent that she could never have anticipated exactly how much his sudden appearance would affect her. Almost immediately, she was captivated by his features, a lazy half-smile turning up the corner of his mouth while warm, almost golden eyes peered over dark sunglasses as though he was intent upon taking in Fiona’s appearance every bit as much as she was absorbed in observing his own. Before she could become too distracted by his apparent amusement over her question, however, or the way his red hair reflected the soft lighting of the bar in a way that was far too enthralling for her own good, Fiona found herself brought back to the present by the sudden realization he was preparing to reply, her eyes flicking over his features for a moment, before they settled upon glancing down at the way his hand still lingered upon his thigh.

“Just seem a bit out of your element, is all.”

“How do you figure?”

“S’obvious, isn’t it? Most people who’re natives of this bar seem far more at ease, for one.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m too uptight?”

“Might be,” The stranger admitted, an obvious smirk toying at his lips, and provoking a light flush to Fiona’s cheeks in response, “That a problem?”

“I—no. Not really.”

“You certain about that, pet?”

“Well, it would kind of prove your point if it was a problem, wouldn’t it?” Fiona inquired, her fingers absently toying with her now empty shot glass, while a smile of her own teased at the edges of her lips, “But you are right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not a native of this bar.”

“Knew it,” The man said, his self-satisfied expression prompting a small laugh to from his female companion, as he shifted slightly on the stool he sat upon to face her more directly, “Just move here, then?”

“You could say that.”

“Where you from?”

“Soho.”

“Here with family?”

“Ah—no,” Fiona confessed, biting her lower lip for a moment as she watched the man beside her flag down the bartender, though he never spent too long looking anywhere other than at her, as though to gauge her reaction to his chosen method of conversation, “No, I’m here on my own.”

“Me too,” The stranger informed, glancing away from Fiona for just long enough to request a glass of gin from the bartender, before he was watching her once more when the man behind the bar turned to her, as well.

“Anything for you, hon?”

“Oh, I’m fine—” Fiona began, only to find her attempt at remaining at least somewhat sober thwarted as her newfound companion shook his head and countering her denial with a rather insistent offer, instead.

“Don’t be ridiculous, pet. I’m buying. Get whatever you’d like.”

“You—are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“S’not imposing if I’m offering, love. And I’m not really inclined to be the only one drinking themselves under the table, here.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re trying to get me drunk?”

“Might be. That a problem?” The stranger admitted, once again looking at Fiona from over the top of his sunglasses, with one brow quirked in obvious curiosity over her reply. For a moment, she was quite unsure of exactly what to say, particularly as the thought of the precise reason why she had ventured to Tadfield in the first place still lingered in the back of her mind. And although a part of her felt more than a little guilty for being in a bar, of all places, after having left the only home she had ever known, Fiona could not entirely bring herself to come up with an excuse to leave, her tongue darting out to wet her lips for a moment before she managed a reply.

Loneliness, after all, had a way of making someone blind to good judgment, no matter their good intentions at the start of the day…

“No. You know, I don’t really think it is,” Fiona replied, a smile tugging at the corners of the corners of mouth as she glanced down at her hands where they still toyed with the empty shot glass held between them, before going on, “You’re sure about the drink—”

“Course.”

“Okay then. Vodka soda?”

“Sure thing,” The bartender consented, moving off to prepare the two drinks just ordered, and thus giving Fiona the requisite time to turn her attention towards her companion once again.

“Happy?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. I’d hate to have it said that I’m a disappointing excuse for a drinking partner.”

“S’that what we are, then? Partners?”

“You kind of already opened the door for that by offering to buy me a drink, didn’t you?”

“Woman has a point,” The man surmised, one shoulder lifting in what was clearly meant to be a shrug, while he simultaneously reached forward to accept the glass of gin that the bartender returned with, and taking a sip before going on, “So, why’re you here alone?”

“Why are you trying to drink yourself under the table?”

“Seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

“Bad day?” Fiona pressed, determined to do as best she could to avoid the topic of conversation straying back to what had driven her to this particular venue, though somehow she knew that she was not likely to be very successful in the endeavor, no matter how hard she tried. Already, she could tell that the man seated beside her was perceptive—startlingly so, given that he had never met her before to have any idea of what normal behavior may have been for her. But in spite of the fact that ordinarily, such a reality would likely have made her more than a little uncomfortable, Fiona found that in this instance, she was able to simply take it in stride, her body shifting just a bit as the bartender returned with her own beverage, and she took a sip or two while awaiting her companion’s reply.

“Not really. Just—wanted to lose track of things for a bit.”

“What things?”

“How long’ve you got?”

Unbidden, a genuine laugh escaped as the man’s obviously amused expression provoked the same response from the woman who sat beside him, her shoulders shaking just a bit as a result of her mirth. In truth, it felt remarkably freeing to be sharing in such a thing, albeit with a practical stranger. And before she could fully stop herself, Fiona found that she was directing an almost mischievous smile the stranger’s way while simultaneously fiddling with the straw the bartender had placed in her drink, her troubles momentarily forgotten in favor of making her reply before she could lose her nerve.

“I’ve got all night.”

“Feeling bold, are we?”

“Maybe I am. Is that a bad thing?” Fiona asked, rather foolishly hoping that the stranger’s reply would be in the negative, since some small part of her was growing more and more reluctant to leave, the longer she spent in his presence. It was unusual—the strange sense of ease that she felt just talking to him, whether or not their conversation went any farther than simple pleasantries one usually exchanged with someone they barely knew. But whether or not it made any sense, Fiona was all but unwilling to relinquish whatever minor relief she may have found with the man beside her, her eyes searching his for a moment as she realized he had removed the sunglasses to place them on the bar beside his drink, and she became momentarily lost in the unusual amber hue that they possessed.

“Not at all, pet. Just so long as you answer a few questions of mine, as well.”

“I suppose that’s only—only fair.”

“Course it is,” The stranger affirmed, swirling the remainder of his drink in the glass, before lifting it to his lips so that he could down it in one swig, “Catch up, love. Don’t leave me to drink all alone, here…”

“Careful what you wish for,” Fiona teased, pausing for just long enough to take a few more sips of her vodka soda, and finding herself all but powerless to resist the flush that rose to her cheeks in response to the weight of her companion’s attention as she did so, “You may not want to buy that many drinks.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe.”

“Well I would hate to disappoint you by failing to rise to the occasion.”

“I’m honored.”

“Good. M’not in the habit of drinking myself silly with just anyone, you know,” The stranger quipped, sending Fiona an almost roguish wink, and delighting in the almost immediate deepening of the flush that already adorned her cheeks in response, “So—you never answered my question. Why’re you here on your own?”

“Oh, I’m not nearly drunk enough for that—” Fiona began, only to find her attempt at evasion cut short by the sight of her companion flagging the bartender once more, with a sly smile turning the corners of his mouth up in response.

“Well then, I suppose we’d better get to it, hadn’t we? I won’t have it said that I don’t know how to show a lady a good time.”

Whether she truly wanted to admit it or not, Fiona would have been a fool to pretend that she was not determined to stay precisely where she was, if for no other reason than to continue to abate the loneliness that had settled like a stone inside her gut for as long as she could, before she found herself forced to return to the home she was renting, and was alone with her thoughts once again.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Some hours later, Fiona found herself pinned between the lithe frame of the man she had met at the bar, and her front door, her fingers tangled in a wealth of fiery red hair while a pair of lips attended to the skin of her neck. Even with the haze the alcohol had created in her mind, she felt different—alive—her body pressing itself as close as she could get to her companion’s while his hands drifted down to rest upon her hips. She could feel the pads of his thumbs brushing up beneath the hem of her shirt, the sensation such a thing created upon the skin of her sides provoking a shiver, and causing her nails to scrape lightly against his scalp, in return. And although she truly wished she could have denied it, the low growl that her nails upon his skin seemed to create only made her want whatever this was more, a low moan escaping as she felt the gentle pressure of teeth scraping against the skin above her pulse.

The act seemed to prompt her hips to press against his own without her even being consciously aware of it, one hand remaining twined in his hair while the other drifted down to rest upon his shoulder, instead. She could feel the slight flexing of the muscles, there, as he shifted so that one hand slipped beneath her shirt entirely, his fingers skimming across the skin of her stomach while he pulled back to meet her gaze head-on. For a moment, Fiona was at a loss for what to do, her eyes locking onto the warm gold of her companion’s while her breath came in short gasps, and she fought against the desire to whine at the sudden loss of contact. But before she could come up with anything to say or do in response, she found the act thwarted, the hand that had come to rest palm-flat against her abdomen creating an almost grounding sensation, and giving her the courage to hold the man’s gaze while he spoke in a voice that was just barely above a whisper.

“Is this alright?”

A fervent nod seemed to be the only reply Fiona was capable of in that moment, her hand squeezing at the man’s shoulder in an effort to drag him back to her before he could change his mind. In truth, she did not fully understand exactly what it was that had her so panicked at the prospect of losing whatever tentative connection they had made with one another, as though the reality of him pulling away were something she did not believe she could bear. 

She could not remember the last time she had felt this close to another person, and she would be damned if she did anything to jeopardize that, whether she knew a thing about this man, or not.

As though the thought had actually been put into words, Fiona found herself biting back a surprised yelp as her companion took the opportunity presented by her nod to surge forward once again, his lips crashing against her own with fervor, while the hand beneath her shirt inched up bit by bit, until his fingertips could slip beneath the wire of her bra. Instinct prompted her to push towards that roaming hand, her head dropping back to thud against the wall as the warmth of it tore a whimper from her throat. Some small part of her scrabbled in her mind for any recollection of the man’s name, if for no other reason than to call out to spur him on in his ministrations, and avoid the arrival of that inevitable moment where he would stop, and pull away, leaving her on her own once more. But no matter what she tried to recall it, Fiona could not overcome the haze in her mind for long enough to succeed, her breath leaving her lungs in a shaky rush as she settled for the only encouragement she could come up with, while the pad of his hand dropped to her waist once again and joined the other in lifting up the hem of her shirt.

“Please—”

“Please what, pet?”

“Don’t stop.”

An almost wolfish grin was the only warning Fiona had before the man was diverting his attention to the task of removing her shirt, and throwing it off to the side in the same motion. Dimly, Fiona was aware of the fact that it had landed haphazardly upon the floor of the den. But before she could even begin to decide whether or not she even cared about such a thing, she found herself distracted by the sensation of the man’s hands returning to her hips, this time to lift her up with her back against the door, such that her legs were forced to instinctively wind themselves around his waist in response.

As soon as she had done so, she was startled with the sudden realization that his hands had once again begun to roam against her skin, the sensation making her arch her back to allow his fingers to start to tug against the clasp of her bra. And before she could find herself in the position of being the only one removing their clothes, Fiona dropped her own hands from their place upon his shoulders to start tugging at the buttons of the dark shirt he wore, the movements almost desperate as she pulled at the fabric until she achieved the result she had wanted all along.

God, but he was beautiful…

With her fingertips running over the skin of his chest, Fiona fought against her disappointment over having been unable to remove the shirt completely, since his hands were still largely preoccupied with keeping her legs hooked around his waist. But even with that limitation, she would have been blind to miss how the lean lines of his muscles moved and flexed with the effort of holding her upright, her eyes meeting his while her fingertips lingered over the sharp line of his collarbone, dancing in idle patterns against the skin as though the feel was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Where’s the bedroom, love?”

“Down the hall,” Fiona replied, her arms returning to their position twined around her companion’s neck as he turned to carry her in the direction she had mentioned. Unbidden, she found that she was leaning down to press her lips against the corner of his mouth, the act causing him to turn slightly so that he could kiss her once again. As lost as she was in the sensation of his lips moving almost urgently against her own, and the taste of gin, and something sharper when she opened her lips to accept is questing tongue, Fiona hardly noticed that he had somehow managed to successfully find her bedroom, and head inside until the sudden grunt he emitted when his shins collided with the edge of her bed caused her to pull back, and she found that she was rather unceremoniously dropped on top of the mattress so that he could clamber over her in next to no time at all.

Bringing her hands up to push his shirt off of his shoulders as soon as she could reach, Fiona was unable to stop the moan that broke free as the man ducked his head so that his teeth could graze against the juncture of her neck and her shoulder. Almost of their own accord, her hips shifted to press against his own, the low groan that he gave in response causing one corner of her mouth to lift in a half-smirk as she realized her action had rendered him distracted enough to grant her a full view of the planes of his chest. The little bit of light coming in through the space between the curtains on the window beside the bed only augmented the sharp lines of his frame. And although Fiona would have given anything to memorize every last dip and hollow presented by the scant lighting, her companion seemed to have regained some of the presence of mind that had been stolen from him when her hips had pressed against his own, his weight shifting to one hand while the other traced across the skin of her abdomen with an almost reverent sort of care.

“You’re bloody perfect, pet.”

“Shut up,” Fiona quipped, laughing in spite of her sudden embarrassment, and attempting to assuage her nerves by reaching out to trace her fingers against the taut skin of the man’s abdomen until they came to hover against the cool metal of the buckle of his belt. Another glance at his eyes showed exactly how intrigued he was by what she would decide to do next, the pupils blown wide such that some of the golden hue seemed to have disappeared, entirely. But whatever patience he may have had at the start of this endeavor seemed to be fading away all too soon, the low groan he gave as her fingers slipped below the belt buckle to brush against the sizable bulge beneath the fabric of his tight jeans seeming to break whatever remnants of control he possessed, and causing him to shift until the skin of his chest was flush against Fiona’s own, and their lips melded together once more.

It was so remarkably simple to just lose herself in the whirlwind of sensations that followed such an act that Fiona would have been powerless to resist, even had she been completely sober. The feel of his skin sliding against her own, coupled by the friction of his very apparent arousal moving against the apex of her thighs had her breathless in seconds, the fingers of one hand finding purchase in the locks of his hair once again while the other slid around to press against the skin of his back. From her current position pinned beneath him, she knew that she should feel at least some apprehension, particularly having not a clue who he was, or what she might be getting herself into. But somehow, she could not bring herself to care about that as she realized one of her companion’s hands had shifted to begin the task of unbuttoning her slacks, her teeth digging into her lower lip as she realized he had used the sudden motion as leave to slide a hand between the fabric, and her over-heated skin, until his fingertips grazed just above the place where she suddenly realized she needed him the most.

“Sh—shit,” She hissed, her eyes slipping closed as she pushed her head back on the mattress, and simultaneously pressed her hips towards the friction provided by her companion’s hand. In the back of her mind, she recognized the desperation of the act, the absence of any sort of physical relations in her life for what had felt like ages rendering her helpless against the near to overwhelming sensations she was feeling, now. But no matter what she did to try and corral herself into some semblance of rational behavior, she could not seem to do it, a low keen escaping as she was brought out of her own thoughts by the sharp bite that had just been delivered to the skin above the fabric of her bra, while two of the man’s fingers slid lower, and pushed gently at her entrance, instead.

“Fuck, pet, you’re perfect,” He groaned, dropping his head down to rest against the crook of Fiona’s neck, while his fingers slid further into her warmth. The feeling of it all was absolutely exquisite, her hips canting against his hand of their own volition while the hand that had been idly roaming the skin of his back slid around to rest upon his wrist instead, encouraging the motions of his fingers while his breath gusted against the skin of her shoulder. Already, she could feel her muscles tightening, her fingernails digging into her lover’s arm while her breath caught around a ragged moan in her throat. And before she could fully stop it, the combination of the friction provided by his fingers and the alternation of nips and open-mouthed kisses he was delivering to the skin of her breast propelled Fiona over the edge, her body seeming to cling to the man that was hovering over her as her world fell apart at the seams.

It was difficult to say exactly how long Fiona had lost awareness of the room around her, her entire body trembling as she came down from her high. At the back of her mind, she could sense her companion’s presence nearby, his mouth tracing idle patterns against the skin of her neck while the sound of a belt buckle coming undone reached her ears. She wanted to do something—anything to return the favor and render him speechless as he had just done for her. But before she could persuade her wayward limbs to cooperate, she found herself distracted once again, this time by the sensation of her leg being lifted to rest around her companion’s waist, and his golden eyes held her own while the pad of his thumb ghosted down the inside of her thigh.

“Alright, love?”

Momentarily rendered speechless by the surprising gruffness that was so apparent in his words, Fiona could do nothing more than nod, her body finally recovered enough to allow her to reach a hand between them to brush tentative fingertips against his length. For a moment or two, she simply watched as his eyes fluttered closed, and he failed to entirely suppress a groan. And just as she had been prepared to shift her hand so that she could wrap her fingertips around him, Fiona found that he was reaching down to stop her movements, his own fingers curling around her wrist so that he could lift her hand away and pin it above her on the bed, while simultaneously sliding forward to enter her in the same motion.

“Oh God,” She whimpered, her wrist flexing against the grip of her lover’s fingers, while her remaining free hand steadied itself on his chest as he started to move. In spite of the fact that some small part of her still questioned her own judgment over the prospect of taking a practical stranger to bed, Fiona’s loneliness and apprehension over settling in to a new home on her own prompted her to meet her companion’s hips thrust for thrust. And before she could stand a chance at stopping herself, she was arching her back and crying out as a slight shift in the angle of their bodies had her seeing stars, her voice broken and desperate and everything she had always sworn she would never be as she begged for more than what was already being given to her.

“Please—shit—I—I need—”

“What do you need, pet?” The redhead asked, the arm that held him propped above the dark-haired young woman beneath him shifting so that he rested on his elbow beside her, allowing his head to drop down to nibble at the lobe of her ear, “Tell me. Tell me what you want.”

“More. Please, more—”

More than happy to oblige, the man used his hold upon Fiona’s wrist to tug her along with him as he rolled onto his back, and the sudden motion caused his length to slip even deeper inside of her core. She seemed entirely incapable of resisting the whimper that broke free in response, her hands falling to rest, palms flat, upon his bare chest to steady herself as a tremor forced its way through her frame. One of her lover’s hands had come to rest upon her hip, while the other pressed back against the mattress to push him up until they were chest to chest. And although Fiona could hardly think straight, given the way her muscles seemed to cling to her companion as though her very life depended upon it, she made the effort to give an experimental roll of her hips, regardless, a breathy moan leaving her parted lips as the two of them found their pace once again.

With her arms still clinging to her lover’s neck, Fiona ducked her head down to press her lips against his own, her fingers once again twining their way through his wealth of red hair as her movements against him became almost frantic. His fingers were biting into her hips, encouraging her pace—and before either of them could fully prepare for it, Fiona was coming undone around him once more, the rippling of her inner muscles bringing about his own end at almost the exact same moment.

Still trying to grow accustomed to the aftershocks that had caused her entire body to tremble, Fiona could do nothing save for remain where she was, the way in which her companion’s mouth continued to move against her own distracting her just enough to render her surprised to find that he had somehow managed to pull her down to rest beside him. Instinctively, she found that she was curling against him not long thereafter, the slight tightening of his arms around her smaller frame provoking a soft smile as she tilted her head back to look him in the eye once again. The act seemed to be enough to prompt him to brush a gentle kiss against her nose, while a yawn simultaneously escaped before she could stop it. And although she was well aware that what she had done was nothing to take comfort in, given her current situation, Fiona could not help but allow her eyes to drift slowly closed, the warmth of this stranger’s embrace far more comforting than she truly felt she deserved.

For now, at least, she would take whatever closeness she could find, and face the consequences in the morning…

………………………………………………………………………………………………………


	2. Initiation

Fiona woke the following morning with a pounding headache, and an obscenely dry mouth, a low groan escaping as she attempted to stretch her stiff muscles, only to find that the movement was restricted by an unfamiliar pressure at her back, and around her waist. Her brow furrowed almost immediately in response, as another shift of her torso provoked a groan from somewhere behind her. And then it all came back to her, with such a startling clarity that she was forced to stifle a gasp, her body freezing in place as she squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to count to ten.

This could not be happening. There was not a man in her bed. A man she barely knew.

A man she had picked up in a bar, like the loose women she could remember her mother always chastising when they watched trashy late-night television shows together before she died.

Sobered by the memory, and more embarrassed than she could ever remember being in her life, Fiona risked a deep breath and began to attempt sidling away from the man who had an arm looped around her waist. She could not believe she had done this, particularly as she had never really been the sort to go for the sordid one-night stand, before. But the reality of the matter was, she had. The reality of the matter was still dozing in bed behind her, with an arm clamped so tightly against her abdomen that she could not move. And so, she did the only other thing she could think of, in response.

She reached down to curl her fingers around his wrist, and used that hold to slowly move his arm out until she could slide away, unencumbered.

As soon as she had done so, Fiona reached for the spare blanket that used to always keep at the foot of her bed at home in Soho, tugging it around her naked frame and starting to head towards the door to the bathroom before the man in her bed had a chance to wake up. She truly had no idea what to do about her current situation, never having been in this exact position ever before. But before she could even attempt to close the bathroom door behind her, the sound of soft laughter reached her ears, her eyes closing for a moment before she steeled herself, and turned to face him head-on.

“Running away already, pet?”

“I—what? No! No, that’s not what—that’s not what I’m doing,” Fiona protested, clutching the blanket around her like it was a lifeline, and forcing herself to meet her companion’s gaze in spite of the apparent burning in her cheeks, “That’s not what this is.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“This is—I live here! How can I run away when I’m staying right here?”

“Is the bathroom a part of the bedroom now?”

“Technically. They’re connected by—”

“By a doorway,” The man supplied, one brow cocked in obvious amusement as he shifted until his legs were crossed beneath the covers, and both elbows rested upon his knees, “Seems to imply that you can close that door, whenever you want.”

“Is this your way of insinuating that you’re interested in watching me shower?”

“Might be. Think I’d be more interested in sharing that shower, though.”

“Oh, really,” Fiona quipped, her eyes sliding lower almost of their own accord, and taking in the way the early morning light seemed to augment the planes of his torso for a moment before going on, “I don’t—I don’t have time.”

“Why not?”

“Seriously?”

“Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

“I’m—I’m already late.”

“Late for what?” The man inquired, turning at the waist to glance at the clock upon the bedside table, and thus giving Fiona a glimpse of a snake tattoo that twined around on itself on his side. For a moment, she was utterly enthralled by it, the way the body of the snake seemed to twist in response to the movement of the lean muscle beneath it making her wonder at the possibility of returning to bed if for no other reason than to give in to his apparent desire to distract her in any way he could. But before she could fall prey to such a temptation, Fiona forced herself to take a step back, her teeth biting into her lower lip for a moment before she replied.

“Work. Kind of something you want to avoid being late for. Especially on your first day.”

“And sharing a shower will make you late?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Fiona scoffed, her flush only growing warmer as she took in how the man was looking at her with a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, “I think you know exactly how it will make me late.”

“So, you didn’t enjoy last night, then.”

“I never said that.”

“Ah. Then you did.”

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

“I didn’t hear anyone complaining last night.”

“I really—I really am going to be late,” Fiona insisted, gesturing with a thumb towards the bathroom behind where she stood, and backing away before she could lose her nerve, and actually return to the bed against all of her better judgment. She would have been a fool to pretend that she did not want him. That watching this practical stranger as he leaned back against the headboard of her bed with arms stretched behind his head, and red hair in an artful disarray was not giving her every reason to believe that maybe showing up late wouldn’t be so bad, after all. 

But of course, that was ridiculous. She had to get ready for work.

“So, you’re kicking me out,” The man mused, amusement apparent in his tone as he continued to watch Fiona as she clutched at her blanket, as though he believed if he did so for long enough, she would cave, “Y’know, some people might call that rude, pet.”

“Guess that’s just something I’ll have to live with.”

“Ouch.”

“Something tells me you’ll survive,” Fiona quipped, rather pleased that her remark had her companion emitting a startled laugh, and watching with more attentiveness than she knew was wise as he threw the covers back and stood from the bed, before turning to swipe his trousers from the floor nearby. The motion allowed her to notice for the very first time that an extraordinarily detailed tattoo of two wings spanned the majority of his back, the tips reaching to his shoulders, and seeming to flex with each move he made. But before she could become too distracted by that realization, Fiona forced her attention back to the bed, her lips pursing into a frown for a moment, before she summoned the wherewithal to speak once again.

“I’m going to go take that shower now. So, it was—it was nice to meet you—”

“Anthony.”

“Anthony. Yeah. I—I really need to go.”

“Sure thing, pet,” The man—Anthony—replied, another smile causing Fiona’s stomach to flip-flop, such that she was gripping the blanket even tighter, while he stood to his full height and began to tug his clothes back on bit by bit, “Are you positive you don’t want some help in there?”

“I think I can handle it,” Fiona managed, tripping just a bit over the end of the blanket, and snapping out a hand to catch herself on the wall at her side as she turned and headed towards the bathroom once again. She didn’t dare look back, whether the man was in the process of getting clothed or not—not knowing that she stood upon the knife’s edge when it came to being able to resist him. And so, she forced herself to head into the bathroom, and shut the door as resolutely as possible, hoping beyond hope that he would be gone by the time she got out.

She did not know if she could trust herself to brush by him and head out the door if he was still around…

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Slipping into the employee locker room around an hour later, Fiona did her best to duck as unobtrusively as possible between her fellow new interns, until she reached the locker that had been labeled with her name. Most of them were already in their scrubs, the realization only serving to emphasize the fact that her dalliance from the evening prior had, in fact, made her late. But mercifully, not a one of them said a word about that fact, only the briefest of glances acknowledging her presence before they turned their attention back to their own business, and Fiona was left to prepare for the day without significant interference.

As she began the task of disrobing, and reaching into her locker for her own scrubs, the sound of the locker room door opening once more reached her ears, effectively diverting her attention as a woman strode in, with a clipboard held firmly between both hands. Almost immediately, she began calling out names, giving each intern the identity of their assigned resident after calling out each group of four people on her list. And just as Fiona had finally managed to change completely, and start the process of securing her dark hair in a knot at the base of her neck, she heard her own name, lumped in with a group of three other strangers that would be her companions for the foreseeable future.

“Device—Fell—Pulsifer, and Simmons. You lot are with me.”

Moving towards the woman, while the rest of the interns made their way out into the hall towards their own respective residents, Fiona extended a hand and forced her lingering headache to the side in favor of offering the brown-haired woman a sincere smile by way of introduction, only to find a stern expression leveled her way in response.

“Hi. I’m—Fiona. Fell.”

“Lovely. Can we begin, now?” The woman snapped, glancing down at Fiona’s proffered hand as though it were somehow distasteful, and taking a step back as three other interns approached as well, “Rule number one: We are not friends. Don’t even bother trying. I am here to take care of patients, and you are here to learn.”

In the wake of the brief pause the woman gave after saying those first words, Fiona risked a glance at her fellow interns, the bewilderment and apprehension that was so apparent in their features mirrored upon her own. In truth, she was a bit put off by the abrasive attitude her resident seemed to possess, having opted against even introducing herself, in favor of simply laying out the rules right off the bat. But, before Fiona could spend too much time contemplating that fact, she was brought back to the present by the sound of their would-be leader’s voice once more, her tone no less stern than it had been at the start of their interaction.

“Rule number two: Any and all decisions that are made regarding a patient’s care will come through me, first. No one goes rogue. Rule number three: If I come to a different conclusion about a case, you do not question it. More experience means more ability to save someone’s life. And that brings us to rule number four—yes, Mister—”

“Pulsifer, ma’am,” The dark-haired young man standing on Fiona’s left side began, one hand lifting to readjust his glasses where they were perched on the bridge of his nose, while he shifted on both feet beneath the weight of their resident’s unwavering gaze, “If—if we have questions, but cannot question you—”

“Your role is not to do anything other than learn from my example, Mister Pulsifer. If that is too difficult for you, perhaps you would be better served by seeking another specialty.”

Wincing as she took note of the young man’s dejected expression, Fiona turned her attention back towards the woman at the center of their small group, her eyes meeting the cold brown of her superior’s as she resumed her elaboration on the fifth and apparently final rule she had for them.

“And that brings us to rule number five: If an attending asks a question, you will refer your answer through me. Your replies put mine on the line, and I won’t have you jeopardizing my future because of your stupidity. Any questions?”

A glance at her companions showed Fiona that not a one of them were willing to mention the most obvious omission in their resident’s speech, her gaze drifting over each and every one of them as though she was daring them to speak. For a moment, Fiona was almost reluctant to do so, herself, if for no other reason than to avoid another incident like her botched attempt at introducing herself mere moments before. But before she could completely talk herself out of it, she forced herself to lift a hand in the air, only flinching just a little bit as the older woman’s gaze drifted back towards her, and she cocked a brow in obvious skepticism before she spoke.

“Yes, Fell?”

“You didn’t—ah—we never got your name,” Fiona stammered, aware of the slight narrowing of the woman’s eyes, and yet holding her ground and waiting for what she hoped would be a forthcoming reply. She could tell the question had not been a welcome one, just in one glance at the other woman’s expression. But in spite of that, it seemed, she would receive an answer anyway, her shoulders sagging in relief as the resident’s gaze moved over her other companions once again while she replied.

“You can call me Doctor Prince. Satisfied?”

Not even waiting for Fiona’s subsequent reply, the woman turned abruptly on a heel and headed towards the locker room door, leaving the interns that had been gathered around her to follow along in her wake. It would have been a lie to pretend that Fiona was not more than a little apprehensive at the prospect of beginning her medical career in such a way, with a superior that seemed very unwilling to even consider allowing her subordinates to have a voice of their own. Of course, she had to admit she may have been spoiled, somewhat, by the start of her internship in Soho, prior to moving to Tadfield instead…

The idea of learning passively, rather than being a more active participant was daunting, to say the least, and yet remaining in the hostile environment that had been created by the dissolution of her marriage was equally as intolerable.

She was caught, it seemed, and the only thing to do for the moment seemed to be moving forward, and seeing if perhaps first impressions might prove to be incorrect.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Doctor Raven Sable was a man of ambition, as evidenced by the numerous medals and trophies on display upon the shelves inside his office, the silver and gold and ribbons gleaming in the soft fluorescent lighting hanging down from the ceiling above. It was a point of habit for him to sit in his office for small periods every day, glancing around at the evidence of all of his achievements, and taking stock of all that he had yet to accomplish as well. But perhaps what he enjoyed more was the prospect of allowing others in to see the exact magnitude of all that he had done in his life thus far, and that was what he was looking forward to enjoying, now, as the clock drew ever nearer to one in the afternoon, and the arrival of the newest addition to their prestigious staff was imminent.

The acquisition of one of the foremost trauma surgeons London had to offer was certainly nothing to underplay, and as Chief of Tadfield Airbase Hospital he felt that it was his duty to make sure the man found something worth staying on for within the first few moments of his arrival on site.

Satisfied with his ability to do such a thing without much effort at all, Doctor Sable allowed himself the liberty of leaning back in the chair behind his desk with both hands crossed over his abdomen, while he waited for the inevitable knock upon his door that would signify his secretary informing him of the new hire’s arrival. He had been waiting for this all day—for the prospect of impressing the man with the scope of the hospital and all that it had to offer. And so, when the knock upon the office door finally came, he was only just able to rise to stand without seeming over-eager, his expression schooled into one of almost neutral indifference despite the eagerness that still ran rampant underneath it all.

“Doctor Sable? Your one o’clock is here.”

“Send him in,” Sable instructed, adjusting the position of his tie just a bit, and moving to stand beside his desk while keeping dark eyes absolutely trained upon the doorway. It was not long before he could hear the sound of his secretary’s laughter, the muted echo of a deeper voice giving him every indication to believe that the newcomer had said something to amuse her, and make her smile. But before she had any opportunity to reply back in kind, Sable was stepping forward as the two of them passed through his door, extending a hand to greet his new hire, while simultaneously endeavoring to ensure his face held a welcoming smile.

“Doctor Crowley—welcome, welcome,” He enthused, clasping the man’s hand in a firm grip, and giving it a shake before pulling back, and gesturing towards the pitcher of water and carafe of coffee situated upon the table near his desk, “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“M’fine, thanks. Seems easier to work through mountains of paperwork without distractions, don’t you think?”

“Whatever floats your boat, my friend. Though I had thought perhaps we could forgo the paperwork at the beginning of the day in favor of showing you around?”

“Fine by me.”

“Good, good,” Doctor Sable replied, watching as the man stowed both hands inside his whitecoat pockets before heading back towards the door. In truth, Sable had always found paperwork to be far too tedious to hold any sort of interest for him, and so it was his preference that they left that part of the hiring process to the end of the day, where it could be looked over quickly and signed, rather than taking a larger than needed chunk of their day. And so, he would have been a liar to pretend that he was not thrilled at the prospect of his would-be colleague’s enthusiasm for simply getting started with the more intriguing aspects of the day…

After all, if it were up to him, he would be much more interested in seeing the space he would be working in as a new hire, and to getting to know the people, rather than spending all of his time sequestered in an office, and it only spoke to his companion’s credit that he appeared to feel the same way.

With such a thought in mind, Doctor Sable was pleased to shut the door of his office behind them, for the time-being, while his slightly taller colleague seemed content with waiting for his direction on what to do next. The man seemed to have a sort of easy confidence about him, as though there were absolutely nothing on this earth that could startle him or alter his demeanor in any way. And so he opted for the option that would likely seem most pleasing, his attention straying to the familiar doctor heading their way, with her grouping of new interns in tow, a smile tugging at both corners of his mouth as he stepped to the side of his new coworker, and greeted the woman approaching before she could pass them by.

“Doctor Prince—if you have a moment, I was hoping to introduce you to your new attending,” Sable began, glancing at each of the interns gathered behind her, and nodding to them all by way of greeting before going on, “Doctor Crowley, this is Michael Prince. She’s well on her way to becoming my chief resident.”

“Pleasure,” Crowley acknowledged, extending a hand, only to find that it was met with a skeptically raised brow, and he was forced to curl his fingers into a fist before dropping his hand to his side once again, and glancing towards the four individuals gathered behind her, instead, “And they are?”

“My interns.”

“Their names might be helpful, love.”

“Ah, yes,” Sable cut in, gesturing towards Michael to persuade her to step aside, and then taking the liberty of beginning to introduce the interns, one by one, “Doctors Newton Pulsifer, Anathema Device, Edward Simmons, and Fiona—oh, but do the two of you know each other, already?”

“As a matter of fact, we do,” Crowley confessed, an almost devilish grin stealing over his features as he regarded the very obviously flushing young intern for a moment, before going on, “We met just last night, actually. At the bar.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. Though she made no mention of working here—”

“I didn’t—I never had the chance,” Fiona stammered, her cheeks burning bright red as she realized that not only had she earned the attention of the red-haired stranger from the bar, but that of the Chief, and her resident, as well. Where her companion from the evening prior—Anthony—and Chief Sable were concerned, it appeared the interaction had only sparked amusement. But from the expression upon Doctor Prince’s features as she watched the entire affair, Fiona could tell that she saw the situation as anything but comical, her brown eyes flashing for a moment before she stepped forward to redirect the conversation away from her young intern, and back to more pressing matters, instead.

“Doctor Crowley—Chief Sable—forgive me, but we need to get started on rounds,” Michael pressed, sending a scathing look Fiona’s way so that she would fall back in line with the rest of her fellow interns, before turning her attention to the two men stood before them, “It was a pleasure, as always, Chief.”

“Likewise, Doctor Prince, likewise,” Sable agreed, stepping to the side to allow the woman and her compatriots to pass, and not quite missing the lingering glance that passed between Crowley, and the dark-haired young woman that seemed to have so captivated his attention in the process. It would have been a lie to pretend that the reason behind that did not intrigue him, though he knew better than to risk bringing the girl under Michael’s ire by questioning her, now…

Regardless of what little he may know of his future chief resident, one thing Doctor Sable did know was that she was not a woman to be trifled with under any circumstance.

To say anything other than that he almost pitied the young interns under her care would have been a lie.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………


End file.
